


1:00 in the Morning

by ElwritesFanworks



Category: Happy Days
Genre: Almost Caught, Almost Kiss, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Boys Kissing, Come Swallowing, Denial of Feelings, First Kiss, First Time, First gay experience, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Not Beta Read, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sexual Experimentation, Sexual Tension, Sexuality Crisis, Sharing a Bed, This is "angst lite", but it's 50s era homoeroticism so it's a little angsty, maybe a bit of an age/purity kink thing going on idk, playing a little fast and loose with timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 13:44:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11715588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElwritesFanworks/pseuds/ElwritesFanworks
Summary: A leaky roof leads to Richie and Fonzie sharing a bed. A bit of shared insomnia leads to... other things.





	1:00 in the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little bit of homosex I got inspired to write. My new cable package means I get Happy Gays - I mean Happy Days - reruns every weekday. 
> 
> This is set at some point when Fonzie's living in the attic over the garage, I guess. Richie's of age, but still a teenager and pretty immature about this sort of stuff. 
> 
> I dunno, this isn't particularly serious fanwork - I just wanted some 'boys being boys' shenanigans. This is my first time writing these two but probably won't be my last. I dunno. I'm just seeing how this goes over.

* * *

Richie smells like soap, shampoo, and baby powder. He looks younger when he sleeps, if that’s possible, eyelashes long and pretty as a girl’s. His mouth is soft and pink, his lips slightly parted, and his chest rises and falls at a slow, even pace. In his slumber, he seeks out the nearest source of warmth, snuggling close. His hair tickles where it brushes Fonzie’s neck. He’s so pliant, so warm that Fonzie’s sure he’s asleep, until his voice, soft and hesitant, pipes up in the darkness.

“Hey, Fonzie?”

“Yeah?”

His own voice comes out rougher than intended, catching in his throat. A hand brushes his side under the coverlet.

“Have you ever…”

Richie falters. Swallows audibly.

“Never mind.”

He sounds scared, but also miserable, a little mad at himself, like he’d keep talking if he had the guts, but recognizes he doesn’t have them.

“No, what were you gonna say?”

Richie’s eyes open, and they look huge in the moonlight coming in through a gap in the curtains – like two pools of India ink.

“Promise not to hit me?”

Fonzie nods, and lays still, stunned, as Richie’s hand seeks out his own and tugs it over to press against his blue flannel pajama top, right over the little ‘R’ on the pocket – hand-stitched by Mrs. C, herself, in one of those countless maternal gestures that boys on the cusp of manhood rarely thank their mothers for, or even notice . A nerd the Fonz is not, and he’s pretty fuzzy on the details of high school biology (those that don’t involve girls that is) – vague memories of frogs cut open, organs all spread around, just some of the many things he didn’t miss from the days before dropping out. Still, he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t be able to feel Cunningham’s heartbeat under his palm through not only the flannel shirt but also his skin, but impossible or not, he’d swear it’s there. _Thump thump, thump thump,_ against his hand.

“Have you? Ever? With a… I mean… like this?” Richie asks again, and this time, his meaning is clear. This time, Fonzie shakes his head. His mouth is dry and cottony, and his throat feels like somebody’s standing on it.

“Nah.”

For a while, they just think the words over, savor the depths of them as the rain beats down on the window pain – the same rain that caused the ceiling in Fonzie’s attic room to leak, rendering it inhabitable and forcing the boys to double up, to share Richie’s too-narrow bed, to do… whatever it is they’re doing now.

He can hear the soft, slick sound of Richie opening his mouth, licking his lips, before his voice pipes up again, just a whisper this time.

“D’you want to?”

With a sort of dawning understanding, like a curtain’s being slowly lifted from his brain, he realizes he does – he, Arthur Fonzarelli, does want to neck with Richie Cunningham, and maybe do more than that. Such a thought is earthshaking in its novelty. _Be cool,_ he thinks, and really tries, but his voice cracks on the answering ‘okay’ and it’s all he can do to keep from scrambling away like a coward when Richie’s hand, warm and bigger than any girl’s, settles just below his belly button. Hands shaking, he responds in the only way that feels… not _right,_ exactly, but surprisingly, disconcertingly, natural – flicks open the buttons of Richie’s pajama top and skates his own work-roughened fingers over smooth, pale skin.

Richie squirms a bit at the light touch on his belly. Ticklish. _Jesus._

There’s a pretty flush all spread over Richie’s face now. Redheads are like that – and if it’s a good look on girls, it’s a _real_ good look on Cunningham. The younger male catches his plump lower lip between his teeth, eyes darting away to stare at the wall, embarrassed.

“Gosh, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, rosy pink to the tips of his ears. “I’m not usually so… responsive.”

Somehow, Fonzie doesn’t connect the words to the hot weight bumping into his knuckles, trapped behind blue and white check, until Richie squirms again and lets out a breathy, involuntary little noise. Fonzie’s eyes widen and his hand pulls back as if burned.

“I’m a little… worked up, I guess,” Richie continues. Then, “Are you gonna hit me now?”

The window for escape has been closed for a while, and Fonzie’s not sure he’d take it even if he could, despite his misgivings.

“Nuh uh,” he answers. “Just… uh… can’t be comfortable like that. For you, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Richie agrees. “I mean – no, it isn’t.”

“Maybe you should just… take it out, then.”

God, Fonzie’s never felt like more of a square in all his life. His only consolation is that Richie seems equally out of his depth, shimmying awkwardly, all gangly legs and bony knees, as he kicks his pajama bottoms down and off.

“Maybe you should take yours out too,” Richie suggests, so Fonzie does.

For a while, they just lay there, bare from the waist down under the coverlet. Then Richie lets out a soft sigh and Fonzie notices his hand’s started moving, unmistakably. He raises an eyebrow, and Richie blushes, grinning nervously.

“Is it alright if I –”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

It’s meant to sound nonchalant, barely interested, but the effect is spoiled a bit when Fonzie’s voice wavers. Richie’s tipped his head back, and the column of his throat is a beautiful sight, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows back a moan. It’s instinct that makes Fonzie lean over and press his face into Richie’s jaw. It’s not a kiss – more a nudge of his nose and an accidental brush of his chin – but it’s enough that Richie’s breath hitches and he claps his free hand over his mouth, bucking up into his fist.

Fonzie waits, frozen, to see how Richie’s gonna play this. Richie, meanwhile, takes a minute to get his bearings before his eyes widen and he scrambles, half-naked, out of bed.

“Shoot!” he hisses, looking around anxiously. “I think I got… stuff on my sheets.”

“Well, that’s the usual outcome when you pop a nut without a rag nearby, Cunningham.”

“I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly,” Richie retorts.

“Just use my T-shirt.”

Not waiting for Richie to respond, Fonzie takes it off and throws it over. The younger man catches it, stares at it, awestruck, for a moment, then uses it to wipe the worst of the evidence off his hand and penis. He switches the light on, making Fonzie curse and cover his eyes to block the worst of the glare. Fonzie feels, more than sees, Richie pull the covers back – to check for stains. It’s only when Richie is still and quiet for a long time before he realizes that, rather than stains, Cunningham’s got his gaze fixed on ‘little Fonzie.’

Propping himself up on his elbows, Fonzie looks over, brow furrowed.

“You got a problem?”

“No,” the redhead insists, shaking his head. “No problem.”

He’s chewing his lower lip again and it looks… obscene, frankly.

“Eyy, Cunningham, I know it’s impressive an’ all but my eyes are up here.”

When Richie’s eyes meet his, the grin fades from his face. Richie looks a little scared and a lot hungry. It’s an intense sort of a look, and one more suited for experienced, sexy women than gawky teens.

“Whoa, easy there, cowboy. You can get in a lot of trouble, throwin’ around looks like that.”

“Like what?”

Fonzie imitated the expression. Richie’s eyes widened.

“I’m looking at you like that? I didn’t notice.”

“Yeah, you were too busy eyeballin’ my –”

“Shut up,” Richie blushes, and turns the light out. He feels his way back over to the bed, pausing to retrieve his pajama bottoms. Fonzie feels a little stab of irritation at that. Apparently, he’s good enough to fool around with, but only until Cunningham’s had his fun. He’s just about to say how sore that makes him when Richie rolls over and clumsily kisses him right on the mouth.

It’s not a great kiss. It’s too eager and wet. Still, it’s damn good – definitely ranking in the top ten on the basis of sheer novelty alone. Fonzie doesn’t have long to enjoy it before Richie’s pulling away again and scooting down the bed. He gives one of the older male’s nipples an experimental lick and Fonzie nearly clocks him in his efforts to tangle a fist in that head of red hair.

“Don’t tease,” he says gruffly, and feels Richie nod. After that, it takes almost no time at all. Richie gets a zero for finesse, the way he’s slurping and choking, but he’s trying so hard that Fonzie doesn’t even tell him to watch his teeth. When he comes, he keeps Richie’s head in place until the younger man reluctantly swallows.

“Bleh,” Richie says, when he’s finally free to sit up. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “That was awful.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“How would you know?”

The sour look doesn’t suit him, so Fonzie sits up and grins.

“It’ll put hair on your chest.”

He flicks Cunningham’s nipple for emphasis. The boy squeals and tackles him, giggling into his neck when Fonzie jabs his fingers into his ribs.

“Stop!” he wheezes, laughing and teary-eyed. “No f-fair!”

“Oh, sit on it, Rich–”

“Richie? Sweetheart?”

Both men freeze at the sound of a woman’s voice, accompanied by knocking, on the closed bedroom door.

“Uh, yeah Mrs. C?”

“Oh, Fonzie – are you too still awake? It’s after one.”

Unconsciously, Richie tugs the sheets around him a little tighter.

“We’re just going to bed now, Mom. We were… uh… pillow fighting!”

Fonzie raises his eyebrows and Richie responds with a shrug.

“That’s all well and good, but you need your sleep, so now that you’ve finished rough-housing, please, try to get some rest, alright, boys?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Sure thing, Mrs. C.”

Once they’re sure she’s out of earshot, Fonzie curses and tugs his pants back up his legs.

“Pillow fightin’, Cunningham? Really?”

“If you had a better idea, you sure didn’t share it!”

“What 'idea?' Just tell her you were up havin’ a midnight snack.”

The wink is enough to make Richie elbow him.

“That’s disgusting,” he retorts primly.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure it is. And you enjoyed every minute of it.”

Richie blushes, looking away.

“Eyy, why the long face, kid?”

Fonzie has no excuse for leaning in and pressing a kiss to Richie’s mouth, other than that it’s pouting, and looks like it’d be happier kissed. The kiss tastes funny – it takes him a minute to realize why. In that time, Richie’s moved closer, and, hesitantly, slipped an arm over him. It feels good. Better than it should.

“Fonzie,” Richie breathes, the words moist and hot against his mouth, “what we just did – you’re not – and I’m not… at least, I don’t think I am –”

“Don’t worry about it,” Fonzie answers easily. “You heard your mother. Get some sleep.”

“But –”

“Sleep, Cunningham. Forget it, and sleep.”

Richie does as he’s told, and once he’s under, good and deep, Fonzie extracts himself from the embrace, putting as much distance between them as he possibly can in such a narrow bed, and wishes he could take his own advice.


End file.
